Just Because Someone Interprets the Bible Differently . . .

Wrestling with interpretive diversity

Photo by Aaron Owens on Unsplash

(A six-minute read.)

Right now, I’m about 65 days into reading the Bible through in 90 days, which is something I’ve done once before (I’ve also read it through in 30 days, which was an even wilder ride). My friend Nathan encouraged me to join him in this endeavor, and we’re also recording a podcast that documents our reflections on the journey (which will be released at a later date).

And every time I do something like this, including this run-through, the one thought that is most pervasive in my mind is one that might disturb people: I don’t understand about 95% of what I’m reading.

This may seem like a troubling admission coming from a pastor, but I’m just being honest. There are so many strange stories, commands, and expressions that I have no idea how to place into my neatly-constructed boxes. I don’t know how to reconcile everything.

There’s the story in Judges 19 about a Levite whose concubine is raped by men in Gibeah, and the Levite has her body cut into twelve pieces in response, and sends them to all the tribes of Israel.

Or there’s the command in Leviticus 19 that prohibits Israel from wearing clothes with mixed fibers or planting fields with two different kinds of seeds.

And then there’s a vision Ezekiel describes in Ezekiel 10, of angels that have wheels within wheels within wheels, with eyes covering every inch of their bodies.

Or, even in the New Testament, which many Jesus-followers would probably say is less confusing than the Hebrew Bible, there’s visions of prostitutes riding beasts and Paul saying stuff like it’s better to not get married than to get married (but if you’re burning with sexual passion and can’t help yourself, then, yeah, you probably ought to get married).

Again, I don’t understand the vast majority of the Bible. I don’t know how to put much of it into my preconceived boxes.

Which is why, among other reasons, I get very suspicious of people who speak as though the Bible is “clear” or “plain,” and that we should accept the Bible “just as it reads.”

To me, it feels like anyone who has such an attitude about the Bible probably hasn’t actually read it—or at least much of it. There’s so much of it that, from where I sit, isn’t “clear” or “plain” or “obvious.” So much of it is confusing and clouded in mystery.

And there are wide swaths of it that, were I to take it “just as it reads,” would lead me to some really strange beliefs and behaviors.

This is not to imply that all of it is confusing or unknowable. I believe we can arrive at fairly solid conclusions when it comes to significant portions of it.

But even here, we should have humility.

I bring all this up for two reasons.

First, my doctoral research is essentially a study of how American Protestants in the nineteenth century related to the Bible in opposition to creeds. They rejected creeds but embraced the Bible—partly because they thought creeds were confusing but the Bible was “plain.”

Alexander Campbell, for example, in 1830, had the temerity to say that the Bible, as opposed to creeds, “is but a small and plain book.”

Small? My Bible has over a thousand pages.

Plain? See above.

And yet such sentiment was pervasive among most nineteenth-century biblical interpreters, leading N. T. Wright to humorously quip that “the nineteenth century had many faults, but low self-esteem was not one of them.”

And yet, when one reads many of their writings, it’s incredibly disorienting with how many different interpretations derived from that “plain” book.

Baptists criticized Presbyterians for concluding the Bible promoted infant baptism. Unitarians criticized Congregationalists for seeing the Trinity in the Bible. Alexander Campbell criticized William Miller for concluding the Bible taught Christ was returning in 1844. Seventh-day Adventists criticized all other Christians for reading Sunday-sacredness into Scripture.

And on and on it went—all these people reading the same “plain” book, claiming they were advocates of the “Bible only” and sola Scriptura.

Second, from a ministry perspective, I frequently hear sentiment expressed from various Christian leaders who essentially make the claim that anyone who reaches different biblical conclusions than they do doesn’t believe in the “authority of Scripture.”

But just because someone reaches a different conclusion it doesn’t mean they necessarily deny the authority of the Bible.

It may just mean they’ve come to a different interpretation of it—which is, yes, quite possible (and at times legitimate and even God-initiated).

Two people can fully affirm the authority of the Bible and, for many different reasons, still interpret it differently. Difference of interpretation doesn’t necessarily mean a difference in a commitment to the Bible’s authority (though, of course, it may).

Similarly, two people can even use the same “method” in their study of Scripture and yet still come to different conclusions about what it means.

That’s because, as my friend David Hamstra has noted, human beings are not computers. We can’t just plug in a formula and guarantee that our interpretations will all come out the same.

There are many factors that go into our study of the Bible—beyond simple intellectual methodology—that influence how we read it (from personality to character to past experiences to trauma to the amount of sleep or exercise we get).

All this is to say that two people (and especially 20 million people) can all fully affirm the authority of the Bible and commit themselves to the same method of reading it . . . and still come to different interpretations of it.

This is not to completely relativize the Bible, implying that it can never be understood or that we should never draw interpretive boundaries. As I’ve noted (both above and before), I still think we can have a relatively high degree of—though not absolute—confidence in many of our interpretations.

And it’s perfectly fine to seek to unite with others who come to similar interpretations and to expect people within that particular faith community to subscribe to the tenets that the collective group has agreed upon (so long as the “required” tenets are essential rather than non-essential issues—though I understand this is where much of the rub lies).

The bottom line: we should hold our interpretations with humility and not imply that just because others come to different conclusions they must not have the same commitment to the Bible’s authority as we do.

That’s an old ad hominem trick that ultimately can’t be proven or disproven—and it just tends to alienate and divide (and isn’t a conciliatory and good-faith attitude toward others, but instead seems like a “power play”).

Indeed, we should have enough self-awareness and admit that when we claim that others don’t take the Bible “as it reads,” what we likely mean is that they don’t take the Bible as “we read it,” which is a fine attitude to have—so long as we recognize what we’re doing.

Again, this doesn’t mean we can’t arrive at fairly confident conclusions—feeling like our feet don’t have solid ground to stand on.

It just means we’re leaving infallibility where it belongs: in the Bible—and not our interpretations of it.

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Speaking of my “friend” N. T. Wright: I have a high level of confidence that I can now legitimately call him my “friend.” I just returned from a short trip to Oxford, and during the last afternoon there, I got to spend an hour with him one-on-one. We chatted about a wide range of topics—some personal, some academic (including similar ideas to what I outlined above, which have been partially inspired by some of his work)—and my initial impressions of him were confirmed: he’s a wonderful, gracious, and humble man of God.

I truly appreciated the opportunity to visit with him and look forward to further opportunities to connect with him in the future, which he said he was eager to do.

Before we parted company—me on foot; he on his bicycle—we snapped this picture together.

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Shawn is a pastor in Maine, whose life, ministry, and writing focus on incarnational expressions of faith. The author of four books and a columnist for Adventist Review, he is also a DPhil (PhD) candidate at the University of Oxford, focusing on nineteenth-century American Christianity. You can follow him on Instagram, and listen to his podcast Mission Lab.